All I Can Do
by in48frames
Summary: On a spur of the moment trip to the beach, Oliver and Felicity get a bit more than they bargained for.


It's just a drive. A gorgeous Saturday afternoon, no case on the horizon, Diggle off with Lyla and Roy off… somewhere. Felicity and Oliver were alone in the lair with next to nothing to really occupy them, and Oliver asked if she'd like to take a drive.

A drive to nowhere in particular, following the curve of the coast with the windows down and salt air whipping through the car. Oliver has his elbow propped on the sill and Felicity pushes her seat back, crossing her feet on the dash. He casts an amused glance over them but doesn't speak up like her mom always did when she tried the same as a kid. Then again, Oliver probably couldn't sell the "your socks are making me think there's a rabbit on the road" story what with his ninja reflexes.

The sun is high and the sky is an almost painful shade of blue and Felicity is feeling pretty much fantastic. When they pass an unusually deserted stretch of beach, she reaches blindly to whack Oliver's arm.

"Stop!"

He slams on the brakes, twisting the wheel sharply so they end up perpendicular to the road, and Felicity is thrown against her seat belt.

"Whoa." She pulls her legs back and sits up, pushing aside the hair that's become wild in the wind and turning to look at Oliver. She cringes. "Sorry. I just meant, you know, look at that beach! Let's stop here for a minute! But I realize that's, uh, not… what I communicated. Sorry," she says again, her whole face twisting up.

Oliver closes his eyes for a second, eyebrows rising up his forehead, and scrubs his hand through his hair. "Okay." He turns the wheel back around and steps gently on the gas. "Sure. We can stop." He pulls the car onto the shoulder and parks.

Felicity hops out, waiting for Oliver and taking his arm when he comes around the car, leaning on him as her heels sink into the sand. "Sorry, again," she says, rubbing one hand on his forearm in what she hopes is a comforting slash apologetic gesture.

He puts his hand on top of hers, huffing a slight laugh through his nose. "It's okay, Felicity. We're fine. Just, you know—" He stops walking when she does and stands still while she uses him to balance as she gives up and removes her heels entirely. "—maybe don't do it again."

"Yep." She nods repeatedly, one arm still in his and the other holding her shoes out to the side. "No problem."

A moment later, they reach the surf and Felicity leaves Oliver on the sand as she walks forward and lets the water wash over her toes. She drops her head back and holds her arms out to her sides, then turns her head to look back at Oliver in his jeans and heavy shoes. She lets her gaze rake from his head to his feet, then shakes her head disapprovingly.

"You are so not dressed for the beach."

He could have a hundred legitimate comebacks to that (_Uh, we weren't going to the beach? That wasn't ever the plan?_) but he just smirks, not even trying to defend himself. Felicity grins back and turns to the ocean, breathing in the expanse of it, the glitter on the waves and the sails off in the distance.

Before long, she hears splashes behind her and looks to the side as Oliver wades up. He's left his shoes on the sand and rolled up his cuffs and she grins, open-mouthed, for just a second before her eyes narrow.

She turns, pointing one finger at his chest, and says, "You can do better," then wades back towards shore.

When she reaches his shoes, she drops her heels beside them and raises her hand to the strap of her summer dress. She hesitates, just a second, eyes on Oliver as he watches curiously, half-turned, but the lure of the water is too great and she turns her back, pulling the strap down her shoulder. She shimmies out of the dress, letting it pool on the sand, and plunges quickly back into the water before she can really think or start to second-guess herself. As soon as the water hits her knees she dives, swimming out far enough that she's not _really_ in her underwear, not _really_ because water and swimming and yeah. It's fine.

She swims quick as she can past Oliver, close to the bottom in an absolute refusal to see the look on his face, and turns somersaults when it's deep enough. When she's out of air she breaks the surface, gasping in great breaths and pushing her hair back out of her face. She realizes belatedly that she's wearing makeup, and smoothes her fingers carefully but blindly around her eyes.

Oliver arrives at her side and Felicity casts a sidelong glance. Yep, he took his clothes off. Whose idea was that? It was probably not a good one.

She dives again, rolls a somersault, then splashes him as she comes up. He laughs and shakes like a dog, so she splashes him again.

"Come on!" He refuses to splash her back but he does snake his arm out to wrap around her waist, pulling her back flush against his side. She squirms, a completely futile gesture as his arm is like an iron bar—not squeezing but also not escapable. Kicking her feet, she arches her back and wriggles again…

…and all of a sudden it is very, very clear that this was, in fact, a terrible idea. Oliver must reach the same conclusion as he drops his arm and takes a step back, quick, like she's burned him. Without even a pause Felicity dives, curling into a ball and dropping to the sandy bottom. It feels safe down there, far away, but before she can get used to it Oliver is picking her up, raising her back to the surface.

"Don't, Oliver," she says sharply when she can, pushing against his chest and dropping to her feet.

"Okay." He puts his hands up. "Just stay up here, please."

She nods, face averted, and starts to wade back to shore. What she really wants is to dig her fingers into the sand under four feet of water and just stay down there, maybe forever. But instead, she dives, swimming in.

She's just furious with herself, essentially, and her eyes start to sting while she's still in the water. It was naïve to think… It was stupid. She is the queen of stupid ideas and this one really took the cake. To think they could just casually go swimming, like that could be an easy normal thing for them.

It should be possible, in all fairness. But life isn't fair.

She drags herself out of the water, walking to her dress and pulling it on before any of the droplets have a chance to dry. Then she just stops, with her back to the water, staring at nothing.

"Felicity." He sounds… helpless, and she can picture him with his shoulders low and his hands at his sides.

"I'm sorry," she says over her shoulder, not turning. "That was a mistake."

"Felicity," he says again. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Scoffing, she lets her head drop and lowers herself to the ground. She pulls her knees up, wrapping her arms around them and laying her forehead down. He dresses, behind her, and then comes to sit several feet away at her side. It's a relief he gives her distance; she doesn't want to move away from him again, not today.

They sit in silence for a long time, and then Felicity says, "There's nothing to say, Oliver," wanting to put him out of his misery.

"I think there's one thing," he says, and she can just see him out the corner of her eye, so she squeezes them closed.

"Not now. Not because you have to."

"I don't _have to_ do anything, Felicity," and there's an edge to his voice that sends a shiver down her spine. "I want to say it."

She pulls herself in closer, wrapping her arms over her head and clasping her hands at the back of her neck. Her face is pressed to her thighs and it's all she can do to not cover her ears, block him out like a child would. Instead she prepares herself, sets up her defenses and waits, fortified.

"Felicity…" he says, his voice like butter, and she blinks open her eyes, catches sight of his hand digging into the sand at his side, then closes them again. "I love you."

She inhales sharply, only just managing to keep it silent, and her eyes fly open.

"I'm sorry I let you believe it was a lie. I thought it would be better that way." He speaks gently, softly, slowly, like he's lobbing softballs, like if he throws it too hard it will leave a mark; and that's how it feels. "I was wrong. I made a mistake. And all I want to do is make it up to you."

Only then does she look at him, turning her face against her legs and furrowing her brow. His eyes are on his hand, almost entirely buried now, and seeing the trouble on his face she has to reach out, wrapping her fingers around his wrist.

He draws his hand out of the sand, taking hers and turning onto his knees so he's facing her. He brings her hand up to his lips and doesn't kiss it, but speaks into her skin, "Please. Let me make it up to you." His eyes are pleading and she doesn't understand, doesn't know how he can imagine her saying no.

She pushes off the sand, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling herself closer, and he places his hands on her waist to lift her onto his lap. Stretching his legs out, he wraps his arms around her and presses his face to her hair.

"I love you," she says into his neck. "But you don't have to make anything up to me."

"I want to. I hate that I've hurt you."

She smiles and sighs, her breath warming his neck, and he nudges her away so that he can tilt her chin up with a finger. The smile on her face isn't there by will or her control; it's a part of her now, and seeing it makes him grin in return. He kisses her, finally, and as soon as he does she tugs on his neck, pulling herself closer and pressing her chest to his. She holds his face in her palms, his arms snug around her waist with one hand bracing her back.

Their tongues clash and Felicity is pushing up to change the angle when a loud whoop breaks them apart. A group of teenagers is trooping onto the beach with a cooler and a Frisbee, jumping into the air and waving and generally making a spectacle of themselves.

"Oops," Felicity says, pressing her temple to Oliver's cheek as a flush heats up 90% of her body.

He turns his head to place a kiss on her cheek, saying, "Bit public," with amusement in his tone.

"Well, this has been fun." She climbs off his lap and puts a hand out to help him up. He grins, shaking his head, and takes her hand while pushing up off the sand so she doesn't actually have to bear any of his weight. They walk back to the car much the way they arrived, this time with hands clasped instead of arms linked, and everything has changed.

Back in the car and before starting to drive, Oliver stares out the windshield and wraps his hands around the wheel, a silent laugh shaking his shoulders. "Hotel?" he says. "Or home?"

Felicity kneels on the seat, leaning over the centre console and brushing her nose against his ear, nipping at his ear lobe. "Your call."

He closes his eyes and shifts his jaw, holding out for, oh, about five seconds, before he has to turn and capture her mouth with his, hand cupping her jaw. "Hotel," he says against her lips. "Definitely hotel."

Settling back into her seat, her grin is incredibly smug, and Oliver has a hard time keeping his eyes on the road. He reaches out, putting his hand on her leg, and she laughs.

"Didn't anybody ever teach you patience?"

"What use does a vigilante have for patience?" he replies with a wry look her way.

"Hmm." She nods. "Deep. Oh, turn in here!"

The first hotel they see happens to be a cute little lodge on the beach, and they leave the windows open as they make love. The birds call and chatter, never silent, and as night falls the crickets start to sing. When the stars come out they take a bottle of wine to sit on the beach and watch the waves.

Felicity watches Oliver watch the water, and says, "Does this make you think of…?"

"Yes," he says, and she shifts closer to his side. "It's all different enough—the feel of the air, the quality of the water, and especially the animals. But yes, it always will."

She doesn't say anything—what could she say?—but she wraps her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder, and he holds her close.

After a minute, she says softly, "I love you," and she can hear the grin clear as day in his voice when he replies.

"I love you too."


End file.
